Shades of Gray
by AnnaRinzler
Summary: Tavington's goddaughter, fearing seasickness and cross-dressing less than an arranged marriage, escapes to America to start a new life...only to find her old one quickly catching up to her.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Patriot or its characters._

Miss Elizabeth Fairfax, who lived on over 3000 acres of property and whose blood was as blue as the King's, spent the entirety of her twentieth birthday vomiting over the deck of the HMS Neptune. After the entire contents of her stomach had been emptied, she grasped the railing for support and groaned down at the deep blue water. It had been a fine sight from shore, the majestic waves frothing and foaming to and fro, but Elizabeth had gained an entirely new perspective of the sea from the deck of her ship. Tangled tendrils of her light brown hair had escaped their scraggly ponytail and were blowing about her face, and she yanked them behind her ears without bothering to see if they had gotten in the way of the bile she'd been heaving overboard.

"Bloody hell," she stated eloquently down to the waves, squeezing her dark green eyes shut, "Bloody, bloody, bloody hell."

Cursing in and of itself was most gratifying, but she knew that the habit she had picked up during the 51 days of her journey would need to be promptly abandoned once her feet hit solid ground. Too bad. Elizabeth had heard plenty of cursing on the ship, swear words tossed together in combinations that she could have never thought up herself. It gave her a sordid sense of satisfaction to know that Lady Fairfax would have fainted dead away at the things uttered by her only child during the hellish sea voyage.

"_Serves her right," _Elizabeth thought to herself, straightening up to look dully out at the magnificent red sunset.

After so many days at sea, even the splendor of the evening's end was starting to lose its affect. Her whole body ached from unceremoniously evacuating the evening's meal, and though she possessed three changes of clothes in her second-class cabin, this particular set was starting to smell more than a little unpleasant due to catching some of her sick down its front. Elizabeth felt a large hand slap her on the back and she winced at the sting before turning around and arranging her features to appear less pained.

"Steady William," the owner of the voice, the kindly, middle-aged reverend said reassuringly, "It won't be a fortnight before we've reached our destination."

She grimaced and nodded, wiping her mouth on her hand and adjusting her brown breeches. From the beginning the man in front of her had been sympathetic to whom he thought was a quiet, reserved boy travelling alone to the colonies to join his older brother. Elizabeth felt guilty about her deception, though she pacified her conscience by reminding herself that if she'd stayed, she would have been served up on a silver platter to the unknown brute her parents had been plotting to marry her off to. At least in America she'd have a fresh start.

"Have a good night, sir," the girl replied in the lower-octave voice she'd practiced, and the reverend nodded his farewell as he continued to walk around the deck of the massive ship.

She leaned with her elbows propped against the railing, the sea at her back, and surveyed the sailing vessel with unseeing eyes. She allowed her thoughts to drift back in time, as they often did, and closed her eyes for a moment to escape the endless bobbing of the ship.

_The fifteen-year-old shook her head, backing away from the man in front of her as she did so, and took a deep breath as she glanced through the open door at the shadows of the people still in attendance at her father's party. She longed to be dancing and laughing with her friends, not standing and listening to the worst news she'd gotten in ages. Silence reigned in the study and the fire crackling merrily in the hearth seemed to mock her. He'd wanted to tell her himself, but she should have seen it coming._

"_How-how long will you be gone?" she asked, struggling to maintain her composure as she craned her neck to worriedly look up at the much taller man._

_He shook his head; knelt down in front of her. He was impeccably dressed, as always, and had the posture of a gentleman; his icy blue eyes were steadfast as they looked into hers._

"_A very long time, I'm afraid," he replied quietly, and she noted with some sadness that there was no regret in his tone, "I must do my duty to the crown."_

_Duty. He'd spoken endlessly of it, especially after being promoted._

"_Colonel Tavington," the young girl continued, her voice nearly breaking, "I"—_

"_One day," he said, cutting her off as he knelt in front of her, "When this nasty business is through, I will come back and fill your head with more of those stories you love hearing so much, hm? I'll have so many tales to tell about the Dragoons that even you'll grow tired of them."_

_He grinned up at Elizabeth and she managed a shaky smile in return, though it was quick to fade. _

"_Colonel, I just...I feel as if I'll never see you again. What's to become of me without you here?"_

_Her breathing quickened and to Elizabeth's mortification tears began smarting at the corners of her eyes. She had taken her godfather for granted all these years. He was a constant in her life—she may not have seen him every day or even every month in a completely steady pattern, but Elizabeth had counted on his presence, had felt safe knowing that the man who taught her how to ride a horse and who counted her parents as friends was always in the next estate over. _

"_You'll be fine, of course," he replied matter-of-factly, "And when I come back, why, you might even be married to a Duke or a Baron by then, and you can introduce me to your husband."_

_Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She didn't want to be married. She wanted to ride her horses and listen to her godfather's clever stories, not exchange vows and sleep in the same bed as someone else and look after children. The Colonel sighed and glanced down for a moment. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his hand to reveal a thin gold chain with a small, oval locket._

"_My mother was given this when she was a girl," Colonel Tavington said, holding out the locket toward Elizabeth, who tentatively reached forward to take it._

"_I can't," Elizabeth said quietly, holding in her palm and thinking of his forced, stoic countenance at Lady Tavington's funeral, "I just"—_

"_Now, your own mother, no doubt, has rightly told you that it is improper for a young lady to accept presents from men," he continued, interrupting her for a second time, "But I want you to make an exception and hold onto this for me. Keep it safe until I return."_

_He curled her fingers around the locket. Elizabeth swallowed hard to keep her tears from spilling over as she stared down at him and he continued kneeling in front of her._

"_That necklace belonged to the bravest woman I ever knew. Promise me you'll always be just as brave as she was, Elizabeth."_

_Lady Fairfax's daughter took several shaky breaths, refusing to cry in front of him. She squared her shoulders and nodded. He smiled again, placing one hand on her shoulder._

"_I __will__ see you again," Elizabeth's godfather said seriously, giving her upper arm a light, affectionate squeeze as he stood up and walked out through the party, vanishing in the crowd._

**Author's Note: This is the first chapter of many. Feedback is always appreciated, and constructive criticism is very much needed. I don't claim to be an expert on the customs of the eighteenth century so please forgive my occasional slip/use of modern jargon, and if you see any glaring oversights point them out and I will definitely re-write the chapter to fix them. Tavington may seem out of character, but the only reason I can even begin to think he has a soft-ish side is because of the deleted scene "Heart of a Villain" (look it up on youtube) and I promise not to let that overtake his general badassery in future chapters. Also, please ignore ALL of my other stories, as they kind of suck and I am in the process of revising them to suck…less.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"None of these will do," Mary Cornwallis said languidly, gesturing at the high pile of dresses strewn about her mother's sitting room, "I want another gown in _blue, _you know, cornflower blue, not that awful, ghastly _Rebel _blue."

The seventeen-year-old turned back toward the window and airily twisted a strand of her violently red hair around one finger as she stared out over the green, fertile grounds of Middleton Place. The four seamstresses behind her raised their eyebrows but said nothing after murmuring that they would certainly find something in cornflower blue, setting to work removing the vast array of elaborate dresses in front of them. Elizabeth grit her teeth and scooped up a handful of clothing herself, nodding at the other three women, similarly clad in plain brown dresses, to walk out ahead of her. She'd been here for no less than a week and her friend had exhibited such finicky tastes in clothing that it bordered on the extraordinary. Mary was a sweet girl, but her demands were made no less vexing by that fact. Elizabeth's childhood friend had failed to recognize her, with her hair stuffed up in the bland cap that was part of her uniform and her head ducked low at all times, which she supposed was for the best. Everyone who was _anyone _in America stayed at Middleton Place at least part of the time, and even though the servants had their own passages and routes they were supposed to follow in the house, it had been difficult to maneuver around the myriad of people who might recognize the servant girl with the soft hands of a lady.

By the time General Cornwallis's brother had announced the planning of an elaborate ball, Miss Fairfax had decided that her time as a servant had run its course. She'd learned from the other girls that the Duke was no less picky than his daughter, and balls meant endless hours of scrubbing floors, polishing silver, and countless alterations on gowns in the weeks to follow. Though she could bluff with the best of them and fake her way through belonging in the house most of the time, it would be difficult to explain why she was the only one who didn't feel inclined to pitch in on the menial labor she was supposed to be skilled at. Due to her almost complete lack of practical skills (and reluctance to acquire them) Elizabeth had been waiting for the right moment to corner Mary and reveal herself, but the moment had never come. As a girl Elizabeth had been quite fond of having time to herself, but her friend was scarcely alone for a second. Between the array of hired help and other young ladies who frequented Middleton Place, the young "servant" hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise, at least until now.

"Finally," she said through gritted teeth, tossing the gowns on the floor and quickly shutting the double doors as the other women left.

Mary turned around at the sound of the doors closing, a confused look on her face. Elizabeth yanked the cap off of her own hair and knelt in front of her friends voluminous skirts.

"Mary, shh! It's me," she said pleadingly, as her hair tumbled about her shoulders, finally free of its austere prison, "You have to help me."

Her friend stared down at her for a long moment and Elizabeth held her breath. What if she didn't recognize her? Mary had been in the colonies for nearly three years, after all, even if the pair of them had grown up together.

"_Elizabeth!"_ Mary shrieked, her voice shrill enough to shatter glass, "It's really you! You're here!"

Attempting to mimic Mary's heart-felt reply proved futile as she was crushed in the red-head's vice-like grip against her voluminous skirts. Mary squeezed her tightly, only relinquishing Elizabeth in order to stand up and examine the other girl's attire.

"You can't go about dressed like a servant," Mary continued in a confused tone, "Why are you even wearing those ghastly clothes in the first place? Were you in my room with the others the whole time?"

"Of course I was. I just kept my head down, Mary. People aren't terribly concerned with what their servants look like."

"But Elizabeth," the other girl interjected worriedly, "Why are you here now, like this? Where are your parents? The last thing about you that I heard from my Uncle was that you were still in England."

Elizabeth looked at her friend and suddenly felt old. Mary hadn't been able to piece it together, that much was clear in her blank blue eyes. She couldn't conceive that her fellow heiress had simply run away from home, all the way to the colonies, and Elizabeth couldn't fault her for it. The story, when replayed in her own head, seemed dubious at best, and she knew that she was going to have to provide as many details as possible to satisfy Mary's curiosity. Her friend was more social than she was quick-witted, but Mary was no fool and would definitely want to hear anything and everything that Elizabeth had to say about her voyage.

"Mary, I don't know if it's a good idea to talk to like this," Elizabeth replied, glancing worriedly at the door, "Especially with everything happening with the party. I'm afraid someone's going to catch us. _No one _knows I'm here, especially not General Cornwallis or General O'Hara."

She shuddered at the thought of running into either one of them. Thankfully Cornwallis and O'Hara had kept to themselves after arriving two days prior. Mary's uncle probably wouldn't recognize her, having left for the colonies almost three years before Elizabeth, but General O'Hara had been in attendance at her nineteenth birthday and had barely left nine months before Elizabeth did.

"So you ran away?" Mary asked, her brow knit into a frown, "All by yourself, without even a _chaperone_? And now you're not even going to stay?"

"You don't understand! I had no choice. I _had _to leave. And I would love nothing more than to stay here, but I simply can't. You must understand. If anyone saw me I'd be sent back home immediately."

"Lizzie," the youngest Cornwallis girl said solemnly, grasping Elizabeth's hands and looking up into her face, "You have been very wicked. But as your friend, I will help you with whatever you need."

It felt as if a huge weight was lifted off of Elizabeth's shoulders and she sighed, affectionately squeezing Mary's hands before she let them go. Opening her mouth to begin telling her tale, Elizabeth quickly shut it as the pounding of horse hooves began sounding outside, growing louder with every passing second. Looking to her right, Elizabeth felt herself being toward the second-story window and Mary silently followed her. A double row of green uniforms was riding quickly up the thin brown road leading to the estate, and though she couldn't see his face, Elizabeth's heart gave skipped a beat when she set eyes on the man riding alone at the cavalry's head.

"Why is he here?" She asked, her panicked feeling returning in full force, "Why are the Dragoons here? _Here, _of all places! Aren't we fighting a war?"

She walked away from the window and began pacing in the large dressing room. Elizabeth felt as if she'd already been caught, as if her godfather would somehow sense her presence.

"Father did say that he was inviting most of our high-ranking officers," Mary offered tentatively, "And Colonel Tavington _is…_well, you know."

"I have to get out of here. I _have _to get out of here."

"Lizzie, I may have an idea. There is a friend of mine, Amanda Rochester, who lives about thirty miles north of here. She's—well, she's a _colonial, _but a fervent loyalist. Amanda lives with her sister Victoria and Victoria's husband. You'd be welcome in their household."

Elizabeth stopped pacing.

"That's _brilliant_, Mary. But what am I to do for two more days? I have money, but it's not as if I can order any clothes."

"I'm sure we could find _something _for you to wear," Miss Cornwallis replied, eyes twinkling with sudden mirth, "And in the meantime, you can tell me about your grand adventure."

Three hours later, a freshly-bathed and powdered Elizabeth grasped the corner of Mary's dressing table and held on with all her might. With a final, forceful grunt, the woman behind her finished yanking on Elizabeth's stay and deftly adjusted it to fit. The undergarment was not cut in the extreme French style, tightened until she couldn't breathe, but was slightly more comfortable and at least somewhat looser. Morosely looking at herself in the mirror as Mary's lady's maids helped her into the gown that Mary herself had selected for Elizabeth. It was simple but elegant, suitable for a quiet weekday dinner, and she had been assured that its light purple color with white accents helped "set off your eyes just beautifully". The sleeves, which fell a bit past her elbows, were frothing with lace, as was the dress's collar, but other than this Elizabeth could find very little fault with it.

"Well…Mary," she said finally, squinting into the mirror, it's lovely, but the top…"

"I'm afraid you're a bit more buxom than I am," Mary replied serenely, swishing over to Elizabeth in her baby-blue gown, "But don't worry, it will be fine. Are you sure you don't want to wear a different necklace? I have one with amethysts in it that is quiet lovely."

Elizabeth shook her head and touched the chain that her locket was on. The good thing about getting such high cleavage was that it completely obstructed the locket around her neck from view. No one would recognize it, but she still didn't want to put it (or its sentimental back-story) on display. Mary turned and nodded her head at the two women who were standing behind them, and they gave her a small curtsy before walking out the door. Mary waited until it was closed before turning back to her friend.

"Tell me about the breeches again," she said quickly, "I just can't imagine you wearing men's clothing for days and days on end! Or at all, for that matter. The whole thing is so scandalous. You should write a novel, you know."

"_Really, _Mary," she groaned, refusing to admit that she'd gotten the idea of masquerading as a boy from a novel, "I am _not_ going to write a book about this."

Elizabeth took the chance to enviously glance around at Mary's sumptuous bedroom. The walls were as blue as her dress and the bed, a four-poster canopy, was skillfully carved out of the same deep, dark wood as the dressing table and armoire. Heavy brocade curtains hung on the window overlooking the gardens. Her room in the ship had barely been as big as a broom closet, and for the past week Elizabeth had slept in the decent-but-still-stark quarters that were provided for a seamstress—

"Mary!" She said suddenly, eyes widening, "My _room! _I have the money I sewed into my dress but there's still some in my _room!"_

"You left money down there? How much?"

"Almost five thousand pounds," she groaned, "I have to go back and get it; the notes are stuffed under the mattress."

"Mother and father will be expecting me soon—and stop touching your hair, Lizzie!"

Elizabeth jerked her hands down away from her brunette locks and ceased her incessant wrapping of one curl around her index finger. Having a bath, a real _bath, _and her hair done up was depressingly foreign to her. The months on the ship had taken an eternity. The two weeks Elizabeth had spent travelling had been slightly better, but there were no maids to give a young "boy" travelling alone hair or wardrobe assistance.

"We'll have to go down to the servant's quarters," Elizabeth said aloud, heading toward the door, "Just act as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening."

"But"—

"But nothing, my friend," she replied, squaring her shoulders, "You're Mary Cornwallis, and no one has any right to question you here, no matter how strange your actions may seem. Come along. We'll have to go down the main hall, but there is a shortcut halfway through we can take to a secondary hallway."

"Really?" Mary asked curiously, trailing behind her as Elizabeth glanced furtively around to see if anyone was walking around before dinner. The two girls walked quickly but didn't run, and made it down two flights of stairs without being seen by anyone who would recognize Elizabeth. Rounding the corner from the foyer into the main hall, Elizabeth gasped under her breath. General O'Hara was walking briskly toward them, seemingly headed in the opposite direction. She ducked her head and squeezed Mary's elbow tightly, increasing her pace as she did so.

"General O'Hara," Mary said shakily, giving him a brief nod as he took off his hat to them and moved to let the two women pass.

Elizabeth raised her head up only when they had passed General Cornwallis's right-hand man and heard Mary's small sigh of relief. Just when she believed they had made it without being detected, O'Hara's voice rang out down the long hallway.

"Miss_ Fairfax!"_

Mary and Elizabeth whirled around to observe an irate General O'Hara striding toward them, his face beet-red. In an instant she felt all hope of escaping Middleton Place evaporate, and her shoulders slumped down in defeat.

"_Damn," _Elizabeth swore, setting her jaw and trying not to look afraid.

**Author's Note: Another chapter down! And don't worry, Tavington shows up in the next one. Suggestions/comments are always appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"….complete lack of regard for any of the rules of propriety and modern decency! Miss Fairfax, you are utterly…"

Elizabeth stood as stiff as a board in front of General Cornwallis's desk, her eyes glazing over as he continued to pace back and forth in the small space between the window overlooking Middleton Place's grounds and his chair. At the beginning of his rant she had been mortified, but as it grew in length and intensity it lost some of its initial sting. Every so often Cornwallis would pause to bang his hand against the desk for emphasis, causing her to flinch, which he seemed to take as a sign that she was hanging on his every word. In the meantime, Elizabeth was mentally scolding herself in what was perhaps an even harsher tone. How could she have been so bloody stupid? It was all her own fault, of course. It had been nothing more than foolish fancy to think that she could blend in so closely beside the people who had known her from birth without being discovered. Elizabeth saw that now. She wasn't a spy or an assassin or even one of the brash heroines that she had read about in her books. It seemed that she was merely, as General Cornwallis had said, a "headstrong little girl".

The smart tapping of riding boots on the varnished wooden floor ended the General's tirade and shook Elizabeth out of her thoughts and she turned and backed up, almost fainting at the sight of her godfather striding in and giving a brief nod to Cornwallis before removing his riding gloves.

"You sent for me, my Lord."

Tavington's voice just as she had remembered. She could hear the slightest hint of respect in his tone, which was just enough to ensure that he didn't sound completely insolent.

"Colonel Tavington," General Cornwallis unceremoniously stated, his cheeks flush with anger, "Your baggage."

He jerked his head toward Elizabeth before glaring daggers at the colonel, who merely quirked an eyebrow at his superior after giving his goddaughter only the most cursory of glances. Her heart gave a queer little thump when he looked at her. She had somehow forgotten the strange, pale shade of his eyes and the proud way that he carried himself.

"My Lord General," Colonel Tavington retorted, not bothering to hide the sneer in his tone this time as he walked closer toward the throne-like desk, "I don't recall any of _my _personal effects"—

A jolt went through her body as he surveyed her again. Their eyes met for the first time and Tavington's scornful reply faded away as he strode up within an arm's length of his goddaughter. Sliding a surprisingly gentle hand under her chin, he tilted her face toward his and forced her to meet his inquisitive gaze as he surveyed her features with blatant curiosity.

"Elizabeth," Tavington said with a note of disbelief, "I didn't even recognize you…you've grown up."

It was true. She now stood barely four inches shorter than the colonel and though time had changed her appearance in other ways it had left him much the same. She found herself almost smiling up at her godfather as the beginnings of a grin crept over his features. Tavington glanced to his left at the still-scowling Cornwallis and the moment was lost as he drew his hand away and went to stand in front of his superior. Biting her lip, Elizabeth wrung her hands as apprehension crept back up on her like a cold chill.

"Miss Fairfax," General Cornwallis continued angrily, "deemed it necessary to make the crossing from England _alone, completely unsupervised, _and to take up residence here in Middleton Place unannounced!"

The declaration was punctuated with yet another bang of the General's hand on his much-abused desk, which caused Elizabeth to flinch and elicited no reaction from the Colonel, who did nothing but shoot her an incredulous look before looking back to Cornwallis. As it stood she was completely removed from the situation. The conversation had shifted from a one-way diatribe to a discussion between adults about her punishment. She looked down and stared at the floor as she silently contemplated her fate. Had she come all the way to America only to be sent back to England in chains?

"What _exactly _does that mean?" Tavington asked icily.

"The girl's been hiding here for more than a fortnight after stowing away on some bloody barge, and if it hadn't been for General O'Hara…at any rate, I am in no mood for a social scandal and I have absolutely no time for it. Colonel, the outcome of matter is obviously _your_ responsibility and is to be left up to _your_ discretion."

"I don't know about _that_," he replied sardonically, fixing Elizabeth with an angry stare, "If it were _entirely_ up to me I'd have her beaten and sent back home in chains. I don't know if Lord and Lady Fairfax would approve, but we'll see what we can do."

Elizabeth shrank under his glare and looked down. She couldn't look him in the face. Her godfather had never been this angry at her or even in front of her. Now he seemed quietly livid, and the fact that General Cornwallis's fury was slowly winding down didn't make the situation any less frightening.

"Who else besides O'Hara knows that she's here?" Tavington asked slowly, taking his gaze off of Elizabeth to glance at the General, who was massaging his temples.

"My niece Mary. No one else."

"_Everyone_ else knows then," Elizabeth heard the Colonel mutter to himself. "Very well," he said loudly, addressing General Cornwallis with a small nod of respect, "I'll sort the matter out myself."

He came toward her before she had time to react, clutching her arm in a vice-like grip as he pulled her toward the sitting room adjacent to General Cornwallis's temporary office. As ill-mannered as the Colonel's initial actions toward her were, they only got worse when he'd had a chance to shut the heavy wooden door behind the two of them.

"What were you _thinking?" _He hissed, "What have you _done? _Did you think you could just waltz all the way to the colonies on a whim? I'm fighting a war, Elizabeth, and I haven't seen you in years, and I can't stay and take care of"—

"I didn't come here for _you_!" She cried indignantly, her interruption surprising both of them.

Elizabeth shook with anger. She fought hard to keep from crying; her hands balled into fists as she swallowed hard and tried to look at her godfather. After a few seconds of silently looking over her reddened face, Tavington spoke again.

"If anyone ever finds out about this you're ruined," he said bitterly, "Absolutely ruined. You'll never be able to show your face in polite society again."

"Good," she replied, "I don't care about polite society anymore. I'm trying to get as far away from it as I can."

Her retort lacked the gusto and volume of her first, but was still loud enough to be audible. However, her last remark was enough to fan the flames of the Colonel's volatile temper even more.

"You don't have anything to get away from. You've got your father's wealth and your mother's good looks, you count the likes of lords and dukes as your friends and acquaintances, and I daresay before this incident you lived a charmed life."

"You have _no _idea what my life has been like," Elizabeth said quickly, "You don't know"—

"_What?" _Tavington asked viciously, "That you do whatever you please every day? That you're a frigid little coquette and they call you the "green-eyed monster" for it, and your poor mother is absolutely frantic that you'll be a spinster your whole life? Is _that _what I don't know, Miss Fairfax?"

"They—they write all of that to you, do they?"

"Of course they do," he said bitterly, "I've known your parents for longer than you have."

"It's not as if I haven't heard anything about you," Elizabeth sniffed, "I've heard all sorts of terrible stories, especially since I've been here. They call _you _the Butcher, and say that you shoot women and children and"—

"That I've never lost a battle and never fail to get _results. _This isn't about me, you ignorant girl, it's about you, and you can't change the subject, or keep crying to get out of it."

She'd been sniffling ever since they'd begun their altercation and now Elizabeth took a break to furiously swipe at her cheeks to get the tear tracks off. Despite Tavington's protests to the contrary, he fell silent at the sight of more tears leaking out of her bloodshot green eyes and look about as unhappy as she felt. All of her happiness at seeing him had been turned upside down and her misery had been infinitely compounded. He hadn't written to her at all. Of course every now and again her parents had gotten a letter, especially in the early months of his deployment, and he had told them to bid her hello, or had made some other off-handed comment directed at her, but eventually his letters had stopped coming, or so she'd thought. He hadn't bothered to refute any of her accusations, either. War was a ghastly business, but Elizabeth would have felt better off if she hadn't known some of the particulars of what "The Butcher" did to help the British war effort.

"Why did you come here?" He asked flatly, his tone no less stern as he held out a white handkerchief, which she grudgingly accepted, "Why and how?"

"The 'how' of it isn't any _miracle_, Colonel Tavington. I dressed up in men's clothing and stowed away on a ship. Everyone I met thought I was a boy until I got to Middleton Place. Then I decided I wanted to be a girl again."

She bitterly made light of her adventure across the sea and saw with some satisfaction that he winced at the abbreviated tale, obviously appalled at the very notion.

"And my parents provided the 'why' of it all," Elizabeth continued, dabbing at her eyes and staring into the empty fireplace, "I heard them talking about me one night and I panicked."

"What were they saying?" He asked sharply.

"That I was getting so much older, and that I hadn't been courted by anyone, and they were in the process of negotiating a marriage for me," she said with an angry laugh, "They were going to offer me up on a silver platter to"—

"To _whom?" _Tavington interrupted, leaning closer toward her and causing Elizabeth to shrink away from him, "Did you hear them say it?"

"No! All I know that he's well-educated and has no money. The last thing I heard before I bolted is that this man is older than me. What if he's ancient, like Victoria Pickett's husband?"

"Thirty-nine is hardly ancient," Colonel Tavington replied stiffly, "I believe you've blown this whole issue out of proportion. And there is no way you're going to be able to do the work of a servant and survive."

"Yes I could!" Elizabeth replied indignantly, "I have so far and I will keep going if I have to. Or I could be a governess, or a seamstress."

"Give me your hands."

"Wh-what?"

"Your hands."

She tentatively obeyed, turning to the side and stretching out her pale fingers over the light blue cotton of the couch. When Colonel Tavington took her hands in his she sucked in a sharp breath. Elizabeth could do nothing but dumbly watch as he looked at them and placed his hands over hers.

"I knew it," he said matter-of-factly, "Still pale. A bit of sun exposure but you've been getting hand cream. Hardly any calluses on the fingertips. Light labor, at the very most."

She couldn't think. The touch was excessively pleasant, the way he was stroking her fingers with his, even though Elizabeth was completely aware, entranced as she was, that he was doing nothing more than assessing her the way one would a horse. When Colonel Tavington let go of her hands Elizabeth let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"You haven't really been doing servant's work, my dear," Tavington continued, his voice gentler than before, "You've been keeping up a wonderful little façade, which just proves my point. You'd be wasted here in the Colonies. You're far too clever and you"—

"I can't go back to marry a stranger," Elizabeth interrupted, hanging her head, "I just can't. And I can't face my parents."

"Then I have a proposition for you."

She looked up at him, a hopeful expression on her face. Already she needed him too much. Already she could fill herself slipping, leaning on him, the vestiges of self-confidence she had acquired during her travels fading away. She wanted to be five again and sit beside him and have him explain, in his calm way, that everything was going to be just fine because he was seeing to it himself.

"If you will promise me that you will stay here under the care of General Cornwallis, I will write your parents and allow you to stay until the end of the war…at which point you will return home, with me as your chaperone."

"But the man"—

"This war could last another year yet," Colonel Tavington continued slowly, "And"—

"By that time he will have found another bride," Elizabeth finished excitedly, "_Thank you_, Colonel Tavington, this is a brilliant plan."

"Of course," he replied coolly, "Just promise me that we'll keep your adventure between us, hmm? Doubtless you've already relayed all of the exciting bits to Miss Mary Cornwallis, but if she can be convinced to keep them to herself I believe it would greatly help our cause."

"I will!"

Her heart was racing from the excitement of it all. Elizabeth was close, so close, to having everything she wanted _and _being able to keep from marrying the horrid man her parents were planning on giving her away to. In the back of her mind she knew that she was only borrowing time, but a whole year stretched out before her, glowing and glorious. She gave not a thought to the war, in her mind her godfather was invincible and immortal and General Cornwallis was a master tactician who would surely crush the rebellion as easily as it had started. Colonel Tavington rose and held out a hand to her, which she nervously accepted.

"We must be going if we are to make it to dinner in time. Many people have come early for the ball and you should put in an appearance before the event itself to avoid causing too much of a stir. You're entering unannounced as it is."

"I understand," Elizabeth replied, her grasp on his hand light and tentative before he removed his hand and placed it at the small of her back to guide her out the door.

"Say that you were travelling here for the fresh air, or something to that affect," Colonel Tavington said crisply, "I'm sure that the Cromwells and the Powells will be intrigued to see you in the colonies."

"_Cecily Powell is here?" _Elizabeth hissed, stopping dead in her tracks, the name of her old enemy burning like acid on her tongue.

"_Yes_ she is," Tavington replied, turning to bore a hole in her with an intense glare from his icy blue eyes, "I trust that something so trivial as a single person's presence won't cause a problem for you, will it?"

"Of course not," she replied weakly, shrinking under his angry gaze, the sinking feeling from before returning in full force.

**Author's Note: **I am SO SORRY I haven't updated in forever! Please forgive me! My next update will be very, very soon, and I will have this fanfic finished by the end of the summer, I promise!


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when she and Cecily began to dislike each other. Perhaps it had begun before either of them could remember, when they were just infants in their mothers' arms. It was instinctive, at least on Elizabeth's part, something she simply knew without having to think about it. She did not like Cecily Powell and barring extraordinary circumstances, never would. Dwelling on her old foe didn't pleasantly pass the time, but her sour thoughts occupied her until she and her godfather reached the doors of their destination. To anyone passing by it might have looked as if he held her arm out of courtesy, but his grip was so firm that Elizabeth felt as if he was trying to keep her from running away. Two butlers, motionless at their posts, snapped to attention and opened the double doors to a smaller, more intimate version of Middleton Place's grand dining room.

General Cornwallis sat at the head of the table, his typically sour look pasted on his face, while Elizabeth could see the back of his wife's head, seated at the foot. Thankfully the only people there were in the Powell, Cromwell, or Cornwallis families. Elizabeth didn't know if she could endure a larger crowd than the twelve people in front of her. Captain Bordon, a cousin to the Powells, sat chatting to Cecily, who turned her head curiously when Elizabeth and Colonel Tavington entered. Mary sat quietly in her chair, a guilty look on her face. Elizabeth avoided her eyes and the eyes of Cecily Powell and she and Colonel Tavington walked quickly to the two empty places at the table. Nodding at the servant who slid out her chair for her, Elizabeth slid into the seat across from Mary and Tavington took the chair across from Cecily. Mary's mother sat on Elizabeth's left.

"Why, young Lady Fairfax, how lovely to see you," Mrs. Powell said from her seat beside General Cornwallis's wife, "I wasn't aware that you had left England!"

"Yes, how _interesting_!" Cecily fairly purred, "I just heard the news a few moments ago. Where are your parents? I would love to say hello."

Cecily's large, inquisitive brown eyes flickered over her with interest. No one could ever call Cecily dull-witted, though on occasion Elizabeth wished that was the case. The other girl was curious, too curious, and kept looking significantly from Tavington back to his goddaughter as if they were hiding something. She felt her face grow hot as she tried to come up with a nonchalant reply.

"My parents are still at Fairfax Manor," she replied, airily waving a hand in a dismissive motion, "They have sent me to the Americas for a change of scenery, for my health you know. Fresh air."

"An excellent idea," Cecily replied with a nod, "You do look rather red, I am sure fresh air would be just the thing to help your complexion."

Before she could formulate a reply Elizabeth felt Colonel Tavington's hand snake across her thigh into her lap. His fingers quickly found her hand and squeezed it. Hard. Meanwhile, he didn't miss a beat in his quiet conversation with Captain Bordon.

"I…am sure I agree, Cecily," she said pleasantly, causing the vice on her hand to relax ever-so-slightly.

To her relief, General Cornwallis was silent about the matter and their food quickly started arriving. Elizabeth let her hand go limp and Tavington laced his fingers through hers underneath the table. The contact sent another rush of blood to her head. Elizabeth knew that he was only touching her to keep her from verbally lashing out at Cecily Powell, but at the same time the contact felt strange. She could feel the calluses on his hand. He wore gloves to ride but they could only do so much, and she found that she didn't mind terribly—it wasn't as though she wanted him to have the soft hands of a lady.

"Colonel Tavington, Captain Bordon tells me the new thoroughbreds are performing splendidly in the field," Cecily piped up eventually, after the clatter of silverware had died down.

"They are my lady," Tavington replied casually, "They're remarkably fast. I trust that you've enjoyed riding the ones housed here?"

"Of course," the youngest Powell said, turning to Elizabeth, "Colonel Tavington's quite gifted with horses. Pity you didn't come earlier this season Elizabeth, you just missed the last hunt he and his men organized for us here at Middleton Place."

Under the table Elizabeth clamped down on his hand like an iron vice and at the same time gave Cecily her sweetest smile. Mary watched the entire exchange with interest, her forgotten wineglass half raised to her mouth. It was only when Elizabeth shot her a pointed look that she sat it down on the table.

"Thank you," Tavington responded courteously, smoothing his thumb over the back of Elizabeth's hand, "We found it to be quite a nice diversion. Didn't we Bordon?"

"Hm? Quite right sir," Mr. Bordon agreed, briefly removing himself from his discussion with Cecily's parents before turning back to them.

Elizabeth relaxed and leaned back in her chair. Mary shot her a sympathetic smile and looked away, but Elizabeth could breathe easy for a moment. Some of her jealousy toward Cecily began to ebb. She could hear no affection or enthusiasm in Colonel Tavington's voice, only a vague courteousness toward Cecily.

The meal and conversation carried on for a time. Elizabeth picked at her food and pushed it around on her plate. It was extremely rich after what she'd been eating in the servant's quarters and on the ship, and being around Cecily always managed to make her lose her appetite. But how much had she missed, all those years back in England? Not that she didn't love being with her family, but part of her family was _here. _Was she really supposed to wait until the end of the war to see him? It didn't seem fair. After a time Colonel Tavington disentangled his fingers from hers. She let go and his hand slipped back to its place in his lap.

"Shall we retire to the drawing room?" General Cornwallis's wife suggested eventually, rising and nodding to her husband before the women got up and followed suit.

Elizabeth filed out without looking to Colonel Tavington and entered the lavishly decorated room. Paintings in gilded frames adorned the walls and plush sofas were everywhere. The whole thing was cozily lit by candles. She began to feel a bit more at ease. Drawing rooms like these were home to her, or at least they had been in the days when she was only expected to contribute a small amount to the conversation, and not expected to talk about suitors besides. The six women lounged about the couches in a half-circle with General Cornwallis's wife, but as Elizabeth expected, she was the preferred speaker of choice for the evening. The women were all eager to hear about the crossing from England. She thought that it wasn't fair that she had to lie about her journey for them, even if she did truly express how seasick she'd gotten. Still, they murmured and clucked at her like a group of sympathetic hens, and Elizabeth tried valiantly to make light of it. After a time the men came in, their faces a bit redder from drinking more wine, and Colonel Tavington sat down on the couch beside her at a more respectable distance than he'd maintained during their altercation that afternoon.

"I see you're enduring," he murmured, raising an eyebrow, "But I noticed you barely touched your dinner, are you feeling quite alright?"

"_Yes_ Colonel, I'm fine," Elizabeth responded, quietly happy that he'd noticed.

It seemed as though things were going back to the way they were. He was still looking out for her, even though he was in dress uniform and they were an ocean away from home.

"The food is just…different from what I had grown accustomed used to," she elaborated, wanting to fill the sudden silence between them, "I couldn't really stand to eat much of anything with flavor on the ship…and they didn't _have_ much of anything with flavor in the servants' quarters."

"Your mother would die if she heard what we were talking about. You know that, don't you?" He asked, sighing like a suffering martyr.

"I know."

She did her best to look stricken and he shook his head at her. Tavington turned, seemingly lost in thought as he surveyed the talkative groups of people scattered about the room. His blue eyes were even paler in the candle light. Elizabeth's own eyes curiously examined his profile until he looked back and caught her staring at him. She felt a blush creep over her features and she suddenly became very interested in the detailed lacework around her sleeve.

"Something else troubling you?"

"_Well_," Elizabeth admitted, recognizing the probing tone in his voice, indicative of further questioning, "I was just thinking that I've missed you. It's been two years since I've seen Mary, _six_ since I've seen _you. _I miss the way things used to be, I mean. When I was a girl. I'm sorry, I'm being terribly forward"—

"Not at all. You're being terribly nostalgic. I've never taken you for the sentimental type."

"I had a good childhood, that's all. And then I come here and see you, and feel as though I'm a million years old and you haven't changed one bit."

"I've changed," Colonel Tavington stated, his expression darkening, "Trust me, Miss Fairfax."

"You're not going to call me that from now on, are you? My name's _Elizabeth."_

"Yes and my name's _William_," he countered, "But it's hardly appropriate. If you'll at least pretend to play along with the rules of civilized society while you're here I'll see what I can devise for your amusement later next week. We could go horseback riding in the country, perhaps. That is if you still enjoy it."

"I know you're trying to distract me," Elizabeth said with a smile, "But that sounds like a brilliant idea… aren't you tired of riding though, being in the Dragoons?"

"Of course not. I do have duties to attend to, though I get plenty of rest. This dinner party isn't what I'd call physically taxing. Speaking of rest, you'd better get some. It's getting rather late. I understand most everyone here likes to take an early breakfast and you'll need your strength if you're to tolerate _everyone_ here."

"Will you be joining us?"

"I'm afraid not," Colonel Tavington replied, rising from the couch and holding out a hand to her, "I have business elsewhere tomorrow and I must speak with General Cornwallis tonight. Good night, Miss Fairfax."

"Good night, Colonel Tavington," Elizabeth replied with a nod, smiling across the room at Mary, who promptly waved goodbye.

Elizabeth made her way to where General and Mrs. Cornwallis were ensconced in a cream-colored couch.

"Are you retiring already, my dear?" Mrs. Cornwallis asked, "You must be worn out from the crossing over in that dreadful ship and all the excitement."

"Yes ma'am," Elizabeth replied, with a guilty glance at the general, who narrowed his eyes at her, "You're right. Good evening to you both."

"Goodnight," the general's wife replied, while General Cornwallis gave a sort of grumpy, muttering acknowledgement in her direction.

Elizabeth reflected, as she made her way to her room, that Colonel Tavington's presence had been enough to take her mind off of Cecily Powell…or at least enough to not let Cecily spoil the evening. Hopefully Cecily wouldn't set her sights on him. The thought made Elizabeth's stomach turn. She told herself that it wasn't jealousy, of course, but she couldn't bear the sight of them together. However, they'd shown no signs of being overly familiar so far, and her godfather hadn't indicated that he was fond of Miss Powell. Tavington spent all of his time talking to Elizabeth and she managed to be polite to Cecily. It had been a successful evening.


End file.
